


let me take your heart, love you in the dark

by leighbot



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 02:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: Figuring it can’t hurt to release stress in more ways than one, Zayn turns onto his stomach, bracing himself up a bit with his elbows, and buries his face in his pillow. He screams, muffling it as best he can, and drags the sound out for as long as possible before he loses his breath. He slumps, dead weight, to the mattress. He turns his cheek to drag fresh, cool air into his lungs. His eyes open, his lashes brushing wetly against his cheeks as he blinks.He thinks he just had a breakup but, because they’d never really talked about it, he isn’t quite sure.Or, Zayn and Harry are secretly together and both entirely sick of sneaking around. They don't handle it very well.





	let me take your heart, love you in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zcinmalik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zcinmalik/gifts).



> To my lovely prompter: I started and stopped several fics for you, based on a couple of your ideas. I battled a bit of writer's block- wanted to gift you something perfect and continued to be unsatisfied with the results- but I like how this turned out and hope you do, as well. It's a bit quick, which I did not intend, but every scene gives away another piece of the puzzle and I think it fits together, as a whole. Also, I'm a bit guilty of picturing them more as they look now than as they looked when they were sixteen and seventeen, as they are in this fic.
> 
> This 'verse and all things Harry Potter-related are the property of people much more talented than I could hope to be. 
> 
> Title from Years & Years

The morning is cool and damp, a thick fog hanging low over the castle. It makes it hard to see and Zayn’s already cold under his double layer of his thickest jumper and a proper coat, as wizard robes aren’t known for their warmth. He doesn’t wear gloves, can’t for what he’s planning to do, and his hand is stiff around the bucket he carries.

“You’re not afraid?”

Zayn startles at the unexpected voice, eyes widening in surprise as he looks over his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Harry grins and steps closer. “I was writing a letter to mum in the Owlery and saw you heading to the stables. Figured what you were doing.”

“That was a bit dangerous, though, startling me. Morningfire is extra protective of her space right now.”

“I ran to catch you before you got in her paddock,” Harry defends. “I didn’t think about that, though. Just- wanted to see you.” Zayn smiles, feeling his cheeks flush a bit more from Harry’s attention.

He turns his back to hide the silly face he’s pulling. Facing the hippogriff enclosure, now, he shifts the bucket of grub in his hand for the recent mother and her baby. His hands are nearly frozen stiff but he shakes his free hand to loosen it up and reaches for the gate. “Are you coming?” he asks.

“Are you honestly not afraid?”

Zayn exhales, lifting free hand to brush his hair back from his face and under his beanie where his fringe has come loose. “No, I’m just careful.”

“You’re the only student who is allowed to be alone with them.”

“Hagrid trusts me.”

Zayn peeks over his shoulder. The look of fascination is clear on Harry’s face and Zayn bites his bottom lip against a smile. “Come in with me.”

Half-expecting Harry to hesitate or question it, he’s surprised when Harry immediately steps closer again and nods his head. “What do I do?”

“Same thing Hagrid teaches us in class expect you need to treat Morningfire extra carefully: bow lower and hold it longer. If she doesn’t respond, we leave.”

Zayn flips the latch to the enclosure before he can change his mind, pushing through with Harry close behind. Harry reaches his long, thin fingers between the gate and the fence, nudging the latch until it’s in its holder again and the enclosure is secure. With a surprising amount of grace, considering Zayn has watched Harry trip over nothing but a light breeze, Harry turns on his heel and immediately dips into a low bow.

Following his lead, Zayn goes almost as low but keeps his head up a bit so he can watch the momma hippogriff out of the corner of his eye. She holds her head up proudly and regards them for a long moment, the small of Zayn’s back protesting the held pose. Finally, when Zayn starts thinking he should get them out of there, Morningfire exhales in a long, low breath and tilts first her head and then her shoulders, matching their bows.

“Good girl,” Zayn says, straightening and approaching the half-eagle, half-horse. He holds the bucket in front of him, her beak opening in response to the smell of the bug grub he’s brought. “There you go, mummy,” he says, watching her dip her head to grab a fat worm out. He turns to watch Harry, who has found Morningfire’s four day old daughter.

“That’s Firestorm,” Zayn says, watching as Harry bows shallowly to the baby who answers with a dip of her head in kind. Her wings ruffle excitedly and she rushes to nudge at Harry’s hands, no doubt looking for treats. The filly doesn't seem disappointed, brushing her wings against Harry's sides and coaxing him to pet through her feathers and into her fur. "You hungry?" Zayn asks, clicking his tongue to get Firestorm's attention.

She huffs out a breath, eyeing him carefully, before turning and nudging at Harry's hands with her beak again.

"I think she's only gonna take food from me, babe," Harry says with a grin.

Zayn holds out the bucket. "Sure, you wanna grab some bugs with your bare hands?" Morningfire stomps her foot and follows the food, greedily grabbing more. "She's gonna baby bird her in a minute. You might wanna look away."

Harry pulls a face and Zayn laughs.

“C’mere,” Harry says, stepping away from the pair and beckoning Zayn closer with a crook of his fingers.

“I’m busy.”

“Put the bucket down and come give me a little kiss.”

As if Harry’s suggestion is physically pushing at him, Zayn sets down the bucket for Morningfire to peruse, slipping his hands into his sleeves as he crowds into Harry’s space. “Hi,” he says, tucking his chin down to rub his cold nose against the exposed line of Harry’s throat.

“Cold,” Harry protests, though his arms come up behind Zayn’s waist to tug him in closer.

“Should’ve worn a jacket and not just yer robes.”

“Wanted to come see my boy.” Zayn’s face hurts from his grin. He tilts his head back up to meet Harry’s eye, pursing his lips. They’re at the perfect angle for a sweet, soft kiss. “Hi,” Harry says when he pulls away.

“It’s freezing out here,” Zayn laughs, blowing out a breath and laughing again when he can see it.

“Meet in our spot in an hour?” Harry asks. Zayn nods, pressing in for another quick kiss.

 

 

The prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor is wall-to-wall white marble tiles and floor-to-ceiling smooth, polished stone. The white linen curtains are deceptively thick over the enchanted windows and the room is dark and imposing. The stained glass mermaid window is the only current source of light as Zayn crosses over to the massive tub. It’s nearly the size of a swimming pool, sinking deep into the floor and extending down farther than Zayn’s toes can touch. A constant water source pours into it from a fountain beneath a diving board on one side. The board is flanked all around by a hundred golden taps along the edges with glittering jewels on each handle.  Zayn peers at several of them but can’t quite make out their details.

“ _Incendio_ ,” he mutters, flicking his wand towards the chandelier hanging directly above the center of the bath.

Thin spurts of orange and red flames fly from the tip of his rosewood wand, the handle curling around in a loop the perfect size for Zayn’s thumb. He secretly thinks the fact that his pulse point touches the very base of his wand has led to his better control and more consistent spell-casting but he doesn’t dwell on it now as he lights each candle with a wisp of fire before setting his wand down near the diving board and studying the different taps.

“I can’t believe you’re top of your year and, yet somehow can never figure out the bloody bath taps.”

Zayn doesn’t startle this time. “There’s so many,” he defends himself as he turns around.

Harry’s smile lights up his whole face and makes Zayn’s gut feel like it’s flipping over and upside-down. He’s always hated Harry’s stupid butterfly tattoo- had nearly reported Harry back in fifth year when he’d gotten the magical art after a weekend in Hogsmeade- but he understands it, now. Butterflies are always in his stomach when he’s around Harry.

“Hi,” Harry says, coming closer and pulling Zayn into a hug. He presses a kiss to Zayn’s cheek before pulling back enough that he can capture Zayn’s lips in a little kiss. “I know I just saw you but I missed you, anyway. Sucked not being with you yesterday.”

“Can’t have shared classes every day,” Zayn says, though he isn’t entirely sure why. It’d be nice to see Harry all the time, though it might not be very good for Zayn’s attention span. But they’re lucky, as it is, to have Transfiguration and Potions together, as Harry’s the smartest sixth year in the whole school and was placed in the most advanced classes directly following his O.W.L.s the year before.

“You could always hang out with me and my friends,” Harry tries, curling his fingers into the spaces between Zayn’s own. Zayn snorts and Harry pouts and holds his arms out wide, dragging Zayn’s hands with him. “What’s wrong with us? Are we not cool enough for you?” He’s smiling but Zayn can hear the worry underneath his words.

“Too cool for me, babe,” Zayn assures. He tugs at Harry’s hands. “Get the bath ready for us?” he asks, distracting Harry mid-pout.

“I’m gonna get you to hang out with us one day,” Harry warns but he goes to the taps without further protest and starts immediately turning on certain ones decisively though it looks random to Zayn. Green and blue bubbles pour from two separate taps- Harry always picking their individual house colours first- before he circles around to another one that pushes out a piping hot stream of water to raise the temperature up to their liking. “Get in,” Harry says, already shucking off his robes and unbuttoning his trousers.

Zayn loosens his tie with a few quick tugs, pulling it off over his head and following it with his sweater and white vest. He ignores Harry’s whistle though he feels his cheeks grow warm. He slips the button of his trousers free before tugging them down his legs, the skinnies sticking around his knees until he can kick them off.

He jumps when Harry’s cold hands slip around his waist. “Hi,” Harry says, touching his nose to the back of Zayn’s ear. Zayn lifts his hands to stroke over Harry’s knuckles.

“Hi.” Harry steps back, pulling Zayn with him, until they’re at the edge of the pool.

“If you push me in I won’t speak to you for a week.”

Harry laughs but lets him go, trailing his fingers along Zayn’s side before jumping in cannonball style and making a huge splash. Zayn shakes his head and laughs, pulling his briefs up a little higher to keep them above his hips before he dips his toes into the water to test the temperature.

“Just get in,” Harry says, pushing his long hair back from his face when he resurfaces.

“In my own time,” Zayn argues, lowering himself to sit on the edge and kicking his feet through the soapy water. Harry wades over to him, ripples rushing away from him with his movements. Zayn hooks a foot around Harry’s waist, pushing his heel against the waistband of Harry’s briefs. “Surprised you’re still wearing these,” he teases.

Harry’s lips part around a small exhale just as his hands grip Zayn’s ankles under the water. “I could take them off,” he offers, tugging at his hold and jostling Zayn a notch closer to the water.

“I don’t want to get in,” Zayn protests, trying to scoot away.

“Why did you come here, then?”

Harry keeps one hand below the surface of the water but he reaches up with the other and palms Zayn’s waist. Zayn tries to warn him, narrows his eyes and digs his nails into Harry’s wrist to pry his grip loose but Harry is stronger than him and has better leverage because he’s being pulled into the water with a huge splash.

“Dammit, Harry, I spent a long time on my hair,” Zayn gasps when his head is above the surface again. He’s pointing his toes to stay above water but it’s crashing against the side still from his impact and some splashes in his face and gets in his nose.

Harry had swam away, most likely in fear of retaliation, but he presses close again right away and uses the help of the water bouying Zayn to lift him up in his arms. “Forget how little you are sometimes,” Harry remarks.

“You’re, like, an inch taller than me,” Zayn says, spitting out water and plugging his nose as if he can wring it out from there, as well. He coughs a bit, half for dramatic effect and half from the taste of the bubbles, but wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders to stay close. “You’ve just got this usual mop of curls that makes you look bigger.”

“Shh,” Harry whispers, leaning in and nuzzling against Zayn’s jaw. “Gimme a kiss.”

“I don’t want to, you ruined my hair.”

“You’re pouting,” Harry says, pursing his lips for a kiss which Zayn returns begrudgingly. “Thank you.” Zayn hums in response, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder and letting the water buoy them in place. “Are you tired?”

“Stayed up most of last night revising for Charms.”

“You’re going to burn out before N.E.W.T.s, love, it’s not even Christmas yet.”

“I’m just setting up a habit so it’ll be easier when it gets closer to spring.”

“You could be spending that time with me, though.”

“I’m here now,” Zayn says, getting cranky. “I’m here, every week, regardless of what other plans I have.”

He pushes out of Harry’s arms, digging his toes into the slippery marble floor of the tub as best he can as he wades to the edge. He lets the water steady him for a moment before he gets his hands on the edge and pushes himself up. His briefs are soaked and heavy on his waist, slipping under his hipbones until he can plop on the edge and yank them back up.

“What other plans?” Harry asks, still in the same spot Zayn left him. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about it, H.”

“Zayn-“

“Look, I’ve got some studying I can be doing right now.”

“Come on, we’ve just thawed out.”

“I’m just… irritated,” Zayn says, losing some of his fight. “A lot is happening at once.”

Harry pushes himself out of the water, his briefs hanging dangerously low from the weight of the water. “Is it me?” he asks, voice unbearable small. “Am I too… too much?”

Zayn tries to smile but he can’t shake his bad mood. “No,” he says with as much conviction as he can. He walks forward, his feet splashing against the marble with all of the excess water on the floor. He reaches up a hand and cups Harry’s jaw, using his touch to tilt Harry’s face for a kiss. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just need to sleep, I think.”

“There’s no one else, then?” Harry asks in a calmer tone, not quite teasing but not entirely serious either. “No one you’d rather have plans with?”

“I wouldn’t have time for anyone else. I spend almost all of my spare time with you, hiding in the prefect’s bathroom or down in the kitchens.”

“We’re only hiding because you don’t want my friends to know we’re together.”

“You don’t like my friends, either.”

Harry sighs, stepping back and reaching his hands behind his head to wring the water from his curls. “It’s like we’re not even together,” he mumbles. “It’s like we’re just… screwing around.”

Zayn tries to ignore the hurt he feels at that but he knows Harry can see it when he watches Harry’s face fall. “Zayn-“

“I’ve got to go,” he says, stomping away and grabbing his wand from its dry spot near the diving board and flicking it careful in a wave. “ _Entibiaría_ ,” he whispers, a warm jet of air flowing from the tip of his wand and drying his briefs and legs quickly.

“Zayn, stop,” Harry tries again but Zayn doesn’t listen. He tugs his trousers back up his legs, zipping and buttoning them absentmindedly before grabbing his robes. He tugs them closed around his waist, balls his shirts and tie under his arm, and leaves.

The Ravenclaw common room and the prefects bathroom are both on the fifth floor of the castle. He fights the urge to shout or cry as he rushes through the halls, one hand clutching his robes closed as he steps into a run. He’s out of breath when he gets to the common room entrance, The Eagle on the bronze doorknocker blinking suspiciously at him.

“You’re wet, young Malik.”

“Well spotted.”

“And you’re crying.”

“Not yet,” Zayn answers truthfully, gritting his teeth.

“A short one today, then, I think. Two letters make up a part of the body but sound like only one. Of which body part do I speak?”

Merlin, what Zayn wouldn’t give for a dormitory with a password right now. He thinks about it for a minute, different body parts floating through his mind, as The Eagle continues to blink its eyes at him.

Eyes.

“An eye,” he says. “It’s made up of two letters only, ‘e’ and ‘y’, and it sounds like the letter ‘i’.”

“Very well, young Malik. That was your father’s favorite riddle during his time here. Have you spoken to him recently?”

Just as The Eagle no doubt intended, the reminder just serves to send a pang of homesickness tinged with slight guilt coursing through his veins. He pushes through the door and half-jogs through the common room to the spiral staircase. The stairs leave him breathless as they always do but the windows are open in the seventh-year dormitory and he collapses onto his bed, panting. The blue and bronze silk curtains around his four poster are blowing in the breeze and he flops onto his back. The charm on the open windows that allows owls and their packages to enter and exit does nothing to keep the chill out so Zayn tugs his fleece up and over his shoulders. The blanket features his hometown’s Quidditch team, the Bantams flying around on the wool and disappearing in the fringe that decorates the sides. Zayn twirls several of the pieces around his fingers, a warm tear hitting his cheek before he realises he’s even started to cry.

Figuring it can’t hurt to release stress in more ways than one, Zayn turns onto his stomach, bracing himself up a bit with his elbows, and buries his face in his pillow. He screams, muffling it as best he can, and drags the sound out for as long as possible before he loses his breath. He slumps, dead weight, to the mattress. He turns his cheek to drag fresh, cool air into his lungs. His eyes open, his lashes brushing wetly against his cheeks as he blinks.

He thinks he just had a breakup but, because they’d never really talked about it, he isn’t quite sure.

 

 

Advanced Transfiguration the next day sucks.

Harry sits with his group of friends like usual, Zayn and Griff sitting together on the other side of the room, but there are no secret smiles or inappropriate winks thrown Zayn’s way. It puts him off his game and he doesn’t cast a successful spell the entire two hours.

“There something you wanna tell me?” Griff asks him as they head out, Zayn walking twice as fast as usual.

“Yeah, been meaning to say something about your smell.”

“You get a little bitey when you’re upset. I’ve got a one-on-one with Flitwick next but let me know if you need me.”

Zayn’s thankful when Griff leaves it at that, an overzealous clap on his shoulder the last thing Griff does before he heads off down another corridor. Since they were Sorted together over six years ago, Griff has been one of Zayn’s best mates. They’d both drifted together out of a shared love of Muggle music and telly, confiding in each other that they had both requested to be sorted into Ravenclaw.

“Me dad was in this house,” Zayn had said. “I want to be just like him.”

“The Hat wanted me for Gryffindor but I begged for anything else. ‘Griff from Gryff’ is not how I wanted to be known forever.”

The friendship formed then has grown only stronger over the years. Zayn tells Griff everything- they stay up late at night talking about anything and everything until their fellow roommates shout at them to shut up. They spend summers visiting each other as often as they can afford to and Zayn’s sisters like Griff almost as much as they like him. But Zayn has never told Griff about Harry and he never entirely knew why.

The main reason is the fact that Harry is in Slytherin- the house, as a whole, has never been very welcoming of Muggle borns or half-blood wizards like Zayn. Griff has gotten into plenty of arguments with other students who still don’t accept them. Even if they’re not being judged for their blood purity, the Slytherin students are always pulling pranks and being disruptive at the most inopportune times. Seventh year and Harry’s best friend Louis Tomlinson, for one, has never found a study hall that he couldn’t terrorize with his special brand of tricks and torments. Rumour has it, he gets shipments in from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and upgrades them with added Charms. Zayn’s been on the receiving end of his Smart- _Arse_ Answer Quills from the Weasley shop; he had turned in an entire essay with smart quips and passive aggressive insults without realising what his quill had written.

So when, at the end of Zayn’s sixth year, he had stumbled across Harry sneaking into the Prefect’s bathroom for a soak, he hadn’t known what to expect.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Zayn had said, tossing his towel on a hanging rack.

“Are you going to kick me out?” Harry had asked, a small smirk on his face as he’d relaxed back against a cloud of bubbles, just enough along his waist to keep his decency.

Zayn had sighed and begun unbuttoning his dress shirt. He wasn’t about to be pushed around by some fifth year. “Do what you want.”

Harry’s smirk had grown, delight on his face as he slipped back into the water. “Not as uptight as I had thought you were, then.”

It had been the start of their… friendship, if it could be called that. Friendly banter and thinly veiled flirting that quickly led to getting off together anytime Harry would sneak into the prefect’s bathroom when Zayn was there. It became quickly obvious that Harry _only_ snuck into the prefect’s bathroom for the sole reason _because_ Zayn was there.

Zayn shakes his head of the memories, realising he’s been stood where Griff left him for some time. He hears someone calling his name. “Zayn, you alright?”

He turns around. Harry’s stood close to him, one hand raised as if he’d been contemplating whether to reach out and touch. Zayn’s heart feels like it’s beating particularly fast.

“I hate this,” Harry says in a low voice, pushing into Zayn’s space. Zayn takes a step back, looking over Harry’s shoulder to see his housemates, Louis and Jeff, coming out of the Transfiguration room. They head away from them automatically, not even looking around, and Zayn sighs in relief. “Are you listening?”

Zayn turns to face Harry, eyes wide. “Sorry, I- no, I wasn’t listening.”

Harry follows where his gaze had been. “Why are you always so obsessed with Louis?”

“Obsessed?” Zayn repeats, barely restraining himself from gagging.

“You’re always watching him come-and-go like a hound on the scent. Are you in love with him?”

Zayn does gag, then. “You’re so far off-base, H, it’s ridiculous.” He tries to push passed Harry, but the younger lad pushes into his space again. “I need to go.”

“Talk to me,” Harry pleads. “Just tell me what is going on and I’ll do what I can to fix it, I promise.”

There’s a spot in Zayn’s chest that feels like an actual ache. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s… it’s all in my head.”

Harry’s smell surrounds him, the soap he uses and antiperspirant mixing with the sweets he must have had for breakfast. Zayn frowns, knowing Harry likes to pretend that he avoids sugary treats and knowing that Harry indulging in them is no doubt connected to the way he’s caging Zayn against the wall and desperately pleading for communication.

With a sigh and a clenched fist to distract himself from his thoughts with the way his nails bite into his flesh, Zayn looks up. Harry’s eyes are damp, like tears are just around the corner, and Zayn hates himself. He can’t shake off his mood, though, and he knows it wouldn’t be fair to drag Harry along with him. He raises his fist, shaking out his hand before sliding his palm along Harry’s shoulder. His gaze drops to Harry’s mouth seconds before he’s cupping Harry’s jaw and pulling him down into a kiss.

It’s quick, barely a press of lips before he’s slipping out from in-between Harry and the wall.

“I _will_ talk to you later,” Zayn promises before he walks away down the empty corridor.

  


Zayn doesn’t talk to Harry later. He avoids him in the Great Hall, burying himself in the middle of the Ravenclaw table and eating his food quickly, skipping the dessert course when it looks like Harry is about to stand. He wipes his mouth and tosses down his napkin, punching his robes away from his body so he can step over the bend seating.

“Y’alright, Zed?”

He looks over at Linsey. “Just got something to do,” he says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry _did_ decide to stand, and he walks quickly out of the Great Hall to get some privacy before Harry can corner him.

He hasn’t made it a step past the suit of armour when a hand snakes around the crook of his elbow and tugs him gently aside.

“Stop pulling and pushing me around,” Zayn bitches, though he tilts his chin up eagerly for the kiss Harry gives him.

“What’s going on, baby?”

Zayn rolls his eyes at the endearment. “I’m older than you,” he says, like usual, but Harry just nudges Zayn’s chin with his knuckle and leans in for another kiss. Zayn pulls away before their lips can make contact.

“I didn’t think we were just screwing around,” he says.

Harry closes his eyes and groans. “I didn’t either. I just meant that- no one knows and the secrecy makes it harder for me.”

Zayn knows what Harry means, is the thing, though he doesn’t want to admit it. He’s still hurt, and being close to Harry like this is too much for him to process. He shrugs his shoulders and pushes past Harry, taking a deep breath of clean air before he forces himself to walk away.

 

 

The worst part about the castle is the lack of privacy.

At least when Zayn is at home, he can lock himself in his room and paint, nap, or listen to music and be (mostly) left alone. One of his sisters might bang on the door if his music is too loud or his mum might get worried if he hasn’t come out for tea in awhile, but he gets to enjoy some privacy.

Between the full dormitory full of the other boys in seventh year, the portraits that are always talking to him when he passes, and the ghosts who always, always peek their head in wherever he’s decided to hide away, Zayn is constantly surrounded by noise.

“I wish everyone would just SHUT UP.”

The silence that follows his outburst is almost as loud as the din before it had been.

Zayn glances guiltily all around him where he’s stood at the top of grand staircase on the fifth floor, the stairs moving away from him right after he speaks and essentially trapping him in his place. The portrait subjects are all glaring at him, those who are able to are crossing their arms or walking away with huffs and dramatic eye rolls.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice quiet and squeaky. “I just… need a minute of quiet.”

“Well you don’t have to take it out on us, young man,” Emeric Switch says from behind his frame. “Youth these days.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says again.

As if in forgiveness, the staircase swings back to him. He steps onto the first step cautiously, expecting a false one, but it’s solid under his feet. He makes it about halfway, heading to the Great Hall for a bite of lunch before his Potions class, when the staircase gives a terrible lurch and disconnects, swinging to the left and going too fast. Zayn loses his footing and falls on his arse, an “oomph” falling from his mouth on contact.

“So, I’m not completely forgiven, then,” he says quietly to himself. The staircase gives a small shake, a start-and-stop motion so fast Zayn’s glad he hadn’t yet tried to stand. He stays seated until it comes to a complete stop.

When he gets to his feet and looks around, he isn’t entirely sure what floor he’s on. He can’t find a familiar painting in his sight line and he hesitates before deciding that the staircase can’t be offended enough to want him dead, so he climbs up the steps he had descended and hits the landing. The stairs slide away quietly, as quietly as they ever do, and Zayn sighs. Trapped, it seems.

He shoulders his bag and loosens his tie as he heads through the archway to the corridor. There are no decorations, no statues or portraits like those that litter the halls he knows, but there’s a soft green light coming in through cracks along the walls. He would think he’s in the dungeons if he didn’t know how high up in the castle he is.

Near the end of the corridor is a plain wooden door. Zayn figures there’s nothing else the stairs dropped him off for so he touches the handle cautiously. It’s warm but not hot and the handle twists like it’s well-oiled. The door swings easily on its hinges.

“Hello?” Zayn hears from a soft voice he doesn’t immediately recognise.

“Did you get abandoned by the stairs, too?” Zayn asks with a laugh, peering around him. The room is large and mostly empty save for rows of sofas and big, comfy chairs, with other rooms branching out near the back walls. He heads through, taking the room on the left where the voice had come from.

Who he sees is the last person he would have expected.

Louis Tomlinson, the Quidditch captain for Slytherin, is curled up in a chair that’s currently… stroking his arms and back soothingly, if Zayn trusts his eyes right now. Louis looks over when Zayn enters the room and jumps up. “Get out.”

Zayn can’t pretend there’s any love lost between him and Tomlinson but he also can’t ignore the tears he sees dotting Louis’ cheeks.

“Get the fuck out, Malik.”

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are,” Zayn argues. “What-?”

“How did you even find this place?” Louis asks, speaking over him.

“The stairs-”

Louis sighs, sinking back into his chair. The fuzzy arms raise again, elongating and wrapping around his waist like they’re hugging him. It looks… alarming, if Zayn’s honest, but Louis looks relaxed. “Where, like, exactly are we?” Zayn asks. “I haven’t been here before.”

“Eighth floor.”

“There isn’t an eighth floor.”

“And, yet, we’re on it.”

Zayn looks around, as if the room has answers for him.

“I don’t-”

“Ugh, you Ravenclaws… you don’t have to understand, just sit in a Chuddle.”

“A… chuddle?”

“A chair that cuddles. Good for stress relief. The stairs bring students here when they’re near the end of their ropes.”

“No, thanks.”

Louis rolls his eyes, their colour a startling blue against his flushed red cheeks from his tears. “Just sit in the bloody chair.”

“Will you talk to me about why you were crying?” Louis nods after a brief hesitation and so Zayn sits. Immediately, the arms of the chair start to move but Zayn recoils and shakes his head. “No, don’t.” The chair gives a muted whimper but complies, losing its anthropomorphic qualities and growing still. “So,” Zayn says, slipping his feet from his shoes and tucking them under his bum carefully. He turns in the seat to face Louis. “Why are you hiding away?”

“I miss my family. My sisters sent an owl this morning talking all about their Christmas plans and I’m- I’m missing it. I know I’ll be here at the ball with Liam but, I don’t know, it isn’t quite the same without family for Christmas.”

Zayn frowns in sympathy. “I’ve three sisters, myself,” he says. “Holidays are always really hard for us- my family is super close.”

“Are you saying mine isn’t? Just because-”

“Louis, shut up,” Zayn snaps, knowing what he’s about to say. “I’m sick of this. I never started a rumour about your family in first year. I’ve told you this a dozen times over again.”

“Henry said-”

“Henry is a lying shrew who never heard me say a single thing about your half-sisters being non-magical so far. I don’t give a damn if your magic came from the father that fucked off- your parents may have both been Muggles for all you know. Unlike you, I’ve never cared how pure someone’s blood is.”

Louis is quiet- possibly for the first time in his entire life- for a long moment. “You really, really didn’t say that?”

“How would I have even known that? You’ve hated me for six years over something I really, really didn’t say,” Zayn assures. “I’ve never called anyone a ‘Mudblood’ before and I certainly wouldn’t do it about any of your kid sisters. I’m one, myself, though I wouldn’t use that term. I thought all Slytherins were pureblood, if I had ever thought about it at all.”

Louis sighs and it sounds tired, and he lifts his feet onto the chair and wraps his arms around his knees. “I didn’t know your mum was Muggle?” The chair cuddles him up, a still-unsettling image to Zayn, though he can see the calming effect it has on Louis.

“She’s a Squib. Her magic never came.” He looks around again. “Where did these chairs come from?”

“I Charmed them.”

Zayn looks them over again with a new eye. That’s highly advanced magic, personifying an object, and he didn’t know anyone in the school besides the teachers was capable of it. He turns back to Louis with a new eye. “That’s amazing,” he says honestly.

Louis’ eyes are closed as if he’s getting ready to slip into a nap but he’s clearly alert. “I know,” he says with an edge of something Zayn almost doesn’t recognize as good humour until it’s too late. “Now, can you be quiet and let the room calm you or do I have to bribe the stairs to take you out of here?”

“How do you bribe the stairs? What good would money or treats do to them?” Zayn asks. He gets a grumpy glare in response. “I have Potions in half an hour.”

“You’re probably not going today,” Louis says. “Ten points from Ravenclaw but the best nap you’ve ever had in your life. Now, please, shut up.”

Zayn pouts but doesn’t argue it further, closing his eyes and resting his head. He feels the chair come to life again, the arms petting at his side carefully, and he doesn’t bat it away. _Maybe Louis is on to something_ … and that’s the last thought he has before he’s asleep.

 

 

Waking from one of the best naps of his life, Zayn’s surprised when the room is louder than it was before he fell asleep. Namely, it is a loud _voice_ that he’s hearing and he can’t immediately place it. His brain is sleep fuzzy. It isn’t Louis, he knows, an Irish accent thick over the words. He hears Louis, as well, he realises once he pays more attention. So, someone else is here with them.

He extracts himself from his Chuddle, patting the arms in thanks for the cuddle before stretching. His robes and sweater are still wrapped around his bag so he’s in just his jeans and a loose t-shirt, his tie undone around his neck. He pulls his sweater on, ignoring the wrinkles and the way his t-shirt isn’t tucked in, and puts the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Before he walks out, a third voice joins Louis’ and the mystery speaker. Zayn immediately places it and finds himself smiling as he walks out of the room, a solid nap having enriched his mood. He turns the corner, three sets of eyes looking him over as he steps from the room, and he flushes but smiles when he looks to Harry.

“I had a really great nap,” he says, speaking only for the benefit of one member of his audience.

“That’s amazing,” Harry says, eyes still wide.

“Especially because those chairs freak me out,” Niall adds in a small voice.

“And I feel like an entirely new person,” Zayn continues. “So new, in fact, that I’ve forgotten any past secrets I may have been keeping. Can you think of any?”

He notices, from the corner of his eye, that Louis and Niall are both staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes but he doesn’t acknowledge them. Harry seems dumbfounded, on his part, his mouth open slightly and his brow furrowed. He shakes his head.

“No?” Zayn asks, beaming around the question. He steps forward.

“Are you guys friends?” Louis asks, his voiced laced with annoyance. Probably because he thinks there’s some joke he isn’t a part of, Zayn notes.

“We’re- not?” Harry tries.

“No, we’re not friends,” Zayn agrees. “We’ve been dating since last spring, though.”

Harry’s mouth falls open, his eyes sparkling.

“Until very recently, that is,” Zayn continues. “I was in a mood, a right strop, and I think I lost the chance to take this to a more serious level.”

“You didn’t.”

Zayn smiles softly at Harry. “I didn’t?” He knows exactly how sappy he’s being but he pushes the barrier anyway because Louis and Niall are so shocked they probably won’t take the mickey out of him for a long, long time.

“Zayn Malik, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Zayn pretends to think about it for a long, long moment. When Harry rolls his eyes and tugs Zayn closer, no doubt losing his patience, Zayn just laughs and tilts his head to the side for a kiss.

 

 

Two Weeks Later

“Tell me again.”

Zayn sighs, straightening his dress robes and checking for any imperfections in his reflection. “I’ve told you a dozen times.”

“I know,” Griff says, sprawled out on his bed. His own robes are hanging in wait, a deep scarlet colour his mum likes best on him. Zayn had teased but had quickly shut his mouth when his parents had sent his own gold robes, the note _Have fun, sonshine_ tucked in the pocket.

“What part do you want to hear again?”

“The one about the Chuddles.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “It’s actually a clever invention, if a bit startling at first. Lou said he’d like to start up a little shop in Diagon Alley.”

“Oh, so it was _Tomlinson_ two weeks ago but it’s _Lou_ now?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you haven’t completely gone soft for Harry. These Slytherins grow on you.”

“Like a fungus,” Griff mutters.

Zayn doesn’t argue.

 

 

They head down to the Great Hall together half an hour later, having decided to call a cease-fire on the friendly teasing for the rest of the evening. Zayn stops still when he sees Harry waiting for him, grabbing Griff’s arm in reflex. Griff follows his gaze, whistling low.

“Your boy cleans up well,” he says.

“Yeah.”

Harry hasn’t seen them yet, looking down at the floor to get his hair in his face before pushing his fringe pieces back. He tugs at the wrists of his jacket when he’s done, first one and then the other, before smoothing his lapels. He’s outfitted in the strangest dress robes Zayn has ever seen, a white-and-gray pattern that looks random from a distance. The back is a dark charcoal that matches his shirt underneath, but his trousers appear to be the same pattern.

“Let’s go, then,” Griff says, tugging Zayn to follow him.

Zayn takes one step down and then another, feeling a smile starting to tug at the corners of his mouth. Harry looks up when he’s near the bottom, an answering smile on his own lips.

“What are you wearing?” Zayn asks when he’s close enough, realising as he draws near that the pattern isn’t random at all but is made up of flowers and leaves. And, once Zayn is close enough to touch, there are _butterflies_ on the fabric, their wings and legs quivering. “You look amazing,” he says, when he sees Harry’s smile start to drop. “I’ve just never seen anything like it.”

“You are beautiful,” Harry replies. “This colour looks amazing on you.”

Zayn grins, kissing Harry’s lips softly before taking his hand. He links their fingers. “Ready to go in?”

“We could just sneak off to the prefect’s bathroom,” Harry suggests with a wink and a raised brow. “No one else will be there.”

Zayn laughs. “Maybe later. I wanna see if you can dance first.”

“Can I dance,” Harry repeats with a scoff. “I’ll show you a dance.”

Zayn leads Harry into the ballroom, ignoring the curious glances they receive from the other students.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, so much, for reading! And, yes, I put a Yule Ball in without any mention of a Triwizard Tournament. I cheated a bit.


End file.
